Saturday, May 28, 2011

You will not be able to stay home, brother.You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip,Skip out for beer during commercials,Because the revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be televised.The revolution will not be brought to you by XeroxIn 4 parts without commercial interruptions.The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixonblowing a bugle and leading a charge by JohnMitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eathog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by theSchaefer Award Theatre and will not star NatalieWoods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.The revolution will not make you look five poundsthinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother.

There will be no pictures of you and Willie Maypushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run,or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32or report from 29 districts.The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no pictures of pigs shooting downbrothers in the instant replay.There will be no pictures of pigs shooting downbrothers in the instant replay.There will be no pictures of Whitney Young beingrun out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.There will be no slow motion or still life of RoyWilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black andGreen liberation jumpsuit that he had been savingFor just the proper occasion.

Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and HootervilleJunction will no longer be so damned relevant, andwomen will not care if Dick finally gets down withJane on Search for Tomorrow because Black peoplewill be in the street looking for a brighter day.The revolution will not be televised.

There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clocknews and no pictures of hairy armed womenliberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, TomJones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be right back after a messageabout a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.You will not have to worry about a dove in yourbedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.The revolution will not go better with Coke.The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.The revolution will put you in the driver's seat.

The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,will not be televised, will not be televised.The revolution will be no re-run brothers;The revolution will be live.

“The Revolution Will Not Be Televised” – that was about the fact that the first change that takes place is in your mind. You have to change your mind before you change the way you’re living, the way you move. Gil Scott-Heron

Gil Scott-Heron, a poet, jazz musician, and spoken-word artist, died Friday. His piece “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised,” first recorded in 1970 and often revised, has been referenced extensively in pop culture. It begins:

You will not be able to stay home, brother.You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.You will not be able to lose yourself on skag andSkip out for beer during commercials,Because the revolution will not be televised.

That was about the fact that the first change that takes place is in your mind. You have to change your mind before you change the way you’re living, the way you move. … The thing that’s going to change people is something that will never be captured on film. It’ll just be something you see and realize, ‘I’m on the wrong page,’ or ‘I’m on the right page but I’m on the wrong note and I’ve got to get in synch with everybody else to understand what’s happening in this country.

You do have to change your mind before you can change the way you’re living. And how do you do that? You meditate. You sit. You watch what arises in your mind. You look at it – how do you respond to the thoughts? What emotions arise? Where do they come from? Can you investigate them without acting them out? Are you your thoughts or something more?

Friday, May 20, 2011

Today would have been my dad’s birthday, but he died 20 years ago. Tomorrow is my birthday, and I always thought of myself as a serendipitous late birthday present. Just this year – 53 years after the fact – I found out that I was scheduled to be born that day. Still cool, I suppose.

My dear friend Mary Darby’s father died last year, and she spoke at his funeral about the lessons she learned from him that she will carry with her always. I was thinking today about what I learned from my dad. This is what I came up with.

It’s better to laugh at life than to get angry with it. My dad was a Boy Scout leader for many years. He used to come from summer camp with stories about behavior that would make a more-controlling person need a second week off just to let their blood pressure come back to normal. But my dad would laugh so hard when he told them to us that he’d have to stop and wipe the tears from his eyes. He found delight in a lot of places where it would have escaped others. On the other hand, he was an alcoholic so I got so see the suffering that results from getting angry at life and those in your life.

It’s never too late to change your ways. I had already moved out of the house before my dad connected with AA and stopped drinking. He never sat down and looked me in the eye and admitted all his wrongs and apologized, but he told me once that he had tried to make amends by changing his behavior. And he taught me that that’s the truly important thing – to walk the walk, to live by your values. I think this is my main standard for assessing people, and I can be a little harsh in applying it sometimes. Sorry, Dad. Working on that.

Dancing is a good thing. My dad liked Dixieland Jazz. I can’t say I came to share that, but I did get his total enjoyment of music. He was a large man by this point in his life, and the dining room, where our stereo was located, didn’t have much open space. He would put on the Dukes of Dixieland and jiggle so hard that the change came out of his pockets. In fact, he had encased the stereo speakers in cement to allow for such vibrations. Or maybe for some other reasons. Sometimes my daughter and I dance around the kitchen. It’s like that. I also remember dancing with him at a cousin’s wedding when I was in my early teens. It was formal thing, where he led and I stumbled. He was so strong and assured and good at the steps that it didn’t feel weird to be doing old people’s dancing with him.

Read a lot. Especially mysteries. We used to go to the library together every Tuesday. I went through every historical novel in the children’s section (“Little Maid of” enter the name of a Revolutionary or Civil War battle, and you can learn how a 10-year-old girl actually saved the day.) He read mysteries. When I was around 12, I was sick and couldn’t go. I’d just started moving over to the adult stacks. He brought me a mystery by George Simeon that involved a home for unwed mothers. I was somewhat baffled by the choice, but he wasn’t one for unspoken messages so I didn’t look too hard. I was hooked. I think he would have found the Scandinavians a bit dark, but he’d love some of the women PIs.

Don’t smoke. Smoking was the only thing he ever told me not to do. He said, in fact, “If I catch you smoking, I’ll smack you,” which is something he never did. Wish he’d taken that advice.